


falling in reverse

by geneeste



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Felicity whumping, Medical Procedures, Post 5x20 Episode Addition, depictions of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: From the next room, a loud metallic sound of something clattering to the platform rings out, and Oliver can make out Lyla saying something indistinct but urgent. That has him sitting up, on alert, but it’s not until he hears a low, anguished cry that he’s shooting out of his seat and toward the main floor of the bunker.Because it’sFelicity.





	1. so know a good thing when you got it

**Author's Note:**

> I should apologize now, because what follows is a very long list of generous people I need to thank. I know it's obnoxious, given how short this fic actually is, but seriously folks. This thing took a village.
> 
> My sincere thanks to **PunchDrunkDoc** , who was kind enough to provide a beta for (most of) the medical stuff here. I have changed some things since then, so any inaccuracies or ridiculousness that remain are my fault alone. Many thanks to **bethanyactually** , who also contributed a beta to an early version of this fic. (Sorry I was too impatient to let you work your magic again.)
> 
> To **fanmommer** and **darlinginmyway** : thank you for your wonderful enthusiasm and encouragement. To **therewasagirl** : thank you so, so much for your attention and cheerleading and character insights. You're awesome.
> 
> To **MachaSWicket** : thanks for that last hour and a half.
> 
> And finally: To **Shanelle Little** , you are the world's greatest Twitterer and my very favorite Shanelle.

“You should take it easy, we can get this,” Diggle says.

He gestures Oliver away from the wall, which is sporting a large hole, and toward the conference room chair Felicity had placed for him before going to put her workstation back together with Curtis and Lyla.

Oliver almost gives in to the stubborn urge to wave him off and help repair the wall anyway. He’d been released yesterday from the ARGUS medical facility, and other than the occasional twinge in his back and a lingering ache in his ribs, he feels fine. Compared to the other injuries he’s endured over the past 10 years, this is practically a scratch, and nothing that would prevent him from lifting a few bricks.

But then he remembers the desperate look on Felicity’s face as she pleaded for him to stay awake, her distant voice begging him to come back. He remembers the tremor in her hands as she gripped him after he regained consciousness the first time, and the tense way her fingers held his in the hospital after it was all over, like she wasn’t quite sure he wouldn’t slip away again.

And then, just a few minutes ago, how her face lit up with a smile when she rolled the chair over and pointedly stopped it in front of him, silently urging him to use it. How she lingered, asked him if he needed anything with a kind of cautious affection, despite the very interested audience Diggle, René, and Dinah made only feet away.

It feels fragile still, that affection between them, and Oliver doesn’t want to do anything that would risk damaging it. He needs it--and her, despite months spent trying every stupid thing he could think of to deny it. So he suppresses the instinct to skip his recovery and instead simply moves the chair until it’s resting against the opposite wall and sits gingerly in it.

He stretches his legs out in front of him, shifting until he’s settled perfectly into the cushions. “Have at it,” he says, gesturing toward his three teammates. 

Dinah looks momentarily amused before she turns to a large pallet of their replacement bricks and starts unwrapping the heavy-duty plastic holding them in place. René frowns at Oliver, like he’s trying to figure out the game, but quickly loses interest and goes to help Dinah.

Diggle, though, he regards Oliver for a bit longer, a scrutiny that lasts long enough for Oliver to start to feel uncomfortable. Diggle had notably abandoned his hands-off approach to Oliver and Felicity’s relationship just days ago, and Oliver’s sure he’s about to speak up with more advice or meddling. Surprisingly, he doesn’t. He just gives Oliver a nod full of understanding and approval, and then gets to work.

Yes, Oliver’s learned his lesson about listening to Felicity, and he intends to show her that every chance he gets, starting with resting when she asks him to.

And Oliver is just starting to enjoy this strange, unfamiliar resting time -- and Diggle’s extremely measured patience in trying to keep René and Dinah on task while they snipe at each other (it’s nice not having to be _the adult_ in a room full of fledgling vigilantes for once) -- when everything changes.

From the next room, a loud metallic sound of something clattering to the platform rings out, and Oliver can make out Lyla saying something indistinct but urgent. That has him sitting up, on alert, but it’s not until he hears a low, anguished cry that he’s shooting out of his seat and toward the main floor of the bunker.

Because it’s _Felicity_.

He knows without checking that Diggle is behind him, and they race up onto the platform within steps of each other. What they find makes Oliver feel like he’s been punched in the stomach: Lyla and Curtis crouching over an ashen, whimpering Felicity.

As he approaches, he notices a screwdriver that she must have dropped lying halfway under her new desk, but that’s not the image that burns into his mind; it’s Felicity’s glasses next to the tool, bent and with a missing lens, that makes his stomach turn. It’s exactly the horrible visual he’d imagined when Chase had leered at him, waving her glasses in Oliver’s face and bragging about breaking into her apartment.

A cold sweat breaks out across his shoulders, and for one horrible moment Oliver is absolutely convinced that Chase is going to appear from the shadows to take them all out at once, and all he wants to do is turn around and find a weapon to fill his itching palms.

He doesn’t. He forces his feet forward, and that irrational, automatic fear passes, replaced with heavy dread at the reality in front of him.

He skids to a stop next to Curtis, and barely restrains himself from physically moving the man out of his way. Curtis takes one look at Oliver’s face and stands up of his own accord, hovering off to the side.

“What happened?” Oliver barks, crowding close to Felicity, hands immediately finding hers. She curls further into him, one trembling hand circling his wrist, the other grasping his hand like he’s her only lifeline.

“Nothing happened,” Lyla says tensely. “We were talking, and then she just fell.”

“Felicity, talk to me,” he tells her, running his thumb over knuckles that are white with tension.

“My legs,” Felicity grits out, and her fingernails start to bite into his hand. “Oliver, my legs. Hurts. _Hurts._ ”

Diggle is kneeling at her head, one hand stroking her hair back and the other on her shoulder, looking up at Curtis. “Could the chip be malfunctioning?”

“I don’t know,” Curtis replies, sounding shaken.

Oliver glares at him. “I thought you said you fixed it.” 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Curtis repeats, louder this time. “I thought we did, at least in the interim. Felicity said the priority was rebuilding the lair’s security, so we still need to finish configuring the implant, but it shouldn’t be doing _this_ unless--unless we over-adjusted the microelectrode array’s sensitivity after the EMP to accept and amplify _all_ nerve impulses, but this shouldn’t happen unless the neurotrophic--”

“ _Curtis_ ,” Oliver interrupts sharply, then takes a deep breath when Curtis cuts off. While somewhere in the back of his mind he understands that whatever’s going on isn’t Curtis’s fault, Felicity is on the floor crying and in pain and _how can Curtis not know?_ “What do you need to find out if it’s the implant?”

“My tablet, for starters, and unrestricted access to ARGUS equipment,” Curtis replies.

Lyla nods, clearly relieved to have some sort of role in solving the problem. “Go get it and meet us at the va-”

Felicity sucks in a strangled breath and then wails, her feet kicking out wildly, back bowing as if to escape an attack. Her head slams down, and only Diggle quickly wedging his hand between her face and the floor saves her from a broken cheekbone or jaw.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oliver hears René mutter somewhere behind them. “Man, _do something_ ,” he urges Curtis, who seems to break out of his concerned haze and takes off to the server room, presumably to get his tablet.

Oliver meets Diggle’s pained eyes, sees the helplessness he feels reflected back.

“We can't move her like this, she's going to hurt herself,” Diggle says quietly. He’s right; whatever’s happening to Felicity seems to be getting worse, and it’s putting her in very real danger of greater physical harm.

“I'm more concerned about her going into shock,” Lyla says to Diggle, and then to Oliver, “The ARGUS doctors can do more for her pain, but right now the best thing we can do for Felicity is sedate her so that we can _get_ her there.”

Dinah starts talking even before Lyla finishes, shifting on her feet at the edge of the platform. “What do you need?”

“From the med bay, one of the syringe kits and a vial of ketamine from the cabinet,” Lyla instructs, and Dinah goes at a run.

“Felicity?” Lyla asks, raising her voice to break through to her, since she doesn’t seem to be reacting to their voices. “Felicity, we’re going to give you something for the pain and to help you sleep, okay?”

Felicity manages a frantic nod, then in a voice garbled with tears, “Oh God, _please._ ”

Oliver’s lungs clench at that, and it’s all he can take. He needs to hold her, to offer comfort _somehow_ , for her and for himself. He doesn't speak the thought out loud, but Diggle seems to understand anyway. When Oliver moves to gather Felicity up, Diggle is lifting her shoulders so that Oliver can wrap his arms around her.

The stitches in his back pull as he maneuvers them with Diggle’s help back against the new desk, Felicity on her side between his legs. The sting is nothing to him, not like the daggers of misery he feels every time she jerks against his chest. She can’t seem to be still at all now, and he can feel the sobs she’s not letting out with every hitching breath.

“Okay,” he says, talking lowly to himself and Felicity, trying to calm them both down. “Okay, breathe, I've got you. It'll be over soon, I've got you.”

It’s nonsense, the things he’s muttering, because he doesn’t know when it’s going to be over, and although he’d do anything to make this better for her, being here is all he _can_ do. And for all he knows, he’s making her pain worse.

But he doesn't know what else to do, so he just holds on.

By the time Dinah’s back and handing off the supplies, Curtis is too. It’s been a few minutes at most, but it feels a lot longer, and Felicity has grown more and more restless, to the point that Oliver has to tuck her head under his chin and band his arms around her in an effort to keep her from hurting him or sending them both sideways.

Diggle prepares the syringe while Lyla wipes the inside of Felicity’s elbow with alcohol, or tries to. Felicity is writhing, either attempting to evade the pain or lessen it somehow, and it takes several tries for Lyla to even get ahold of her arm long enough to put a tourniquet above her elbow and do the swab.

“Felicity, Felicity,” Oliver murmurs, voice thick and practically begging. “Be still, baby, you have to be still so we can help you.”

It doesn’t work. Felicity’s past the ability to reason with herself; fear and agony have taken over, fueling a struggle she can neither control nor win. She’s openly crying with loud, rasping sobs, and Oliver raises one hand to cover as much of her face as he can without interfering with her already labored breathing. 

He knows Felicity and he knows from experience: later, this public vulnerability will be harder for her to come to terms with than the ordeal itself. If he can help shield her from some of that, even if she’s not aware of it now, he will.

Diggle is ready with the syringe, but there’s no way he can inject her like this. “Give it to Lyla and help me hold her. Curtis, you too,” Oliver orders flatly.

Diggle hesitates only for a second before he complies, but Curtis visibly flinches, which makes Oliver suddenly and stunningly angry. “Help or _get out_ ,” he growls, then turns to Lyla with less bite. “Do it now.”

Curtis seems to have steeled himself, because he gets down on the floor with Diggle and holds Felicity where Dig tells him to. In addition to their bruising hold on her arm, Oliver’s got an arm around her ribs and his legs around her’s to keep her from bucking and kicking. It’s a fully encompassing hold and he can feel her panic ramp up, and he has to clench his jaw to keep from snapping at them to just _get it done_.

Instead, he focuses on Felicity. “I know you’re scared, but just hang on, Lyla’s here and you can go to sleep, just hang on to me for a minute longer. I’ve got you, just hang on to me,” he says, keeping his voice even and soft. At his side, he feels her free hand fist his shirt, and it’s the only indication that she might have heard and understood him.

Lyla’s efficient and quick, despite the difficult circumstances, and Oliver has never been more grateful for her combat medic training. It’s not smooth, but as soon as she finds a vein she’s pushing the medication, and they keep Felicity’s arm steady for another moment while Lyla pulls away the tourniquet and presses a piece of gauze where the needle had been.

“Is that it? Is it working?” Curtis asks unsteadily, voicing Oliver’s doubts when they release Felicity. She’s still crying out, twisting violently against him, the drug obviously not having the immediate effect he was hoping for.

“I can’t give her any more. Just give it time, it’ll work,” Lyla says, though he wishes she sounded a little more confident.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually the tension in Felicity’s body gradually seeps out. Her breathing becomes less ragged, and her sobs turn into whimpers as her body slowly calms. 

Oliver never stops talking, speaking lowly into her hair, brushing sweaty strands back from her face until her fist at his waist loosens and she’s finally quiet. What feels like a vacuum of silence follows, the stunned group almost frozen as they try to process what’s just happened and what’s still happening.

Lyla recovers first, gathering up the used syringe and supplies and carefully handing them off to Dinah to dispose of. “The drug’s a temporary fix, we should get her to ARGUS now before it wears off.”

“I’ll drive,” René offers, heading to the garage to get the van started when Diggle nods his approval.

“I’ll go with you,” Curtis says, avoiding Oliver’s eyes or looking at Felicity as he goes, and Oliver feels a twinge of shame at his treatment of the man. He understands that Curtis cares about Felicity deeply and is doing his best for his friend, but Oliver doesn’t have the energy or the spare attention to fix it. All he can focus on now is Felicity.

When Diggle moves in to take Felicity out of Oliver’s arms, Oliver just hugs her tighter. “I’ll get her,” he snaps.

Dig gives him an impatient, exasperated look. “Oliver, man, you can’t carry her. You _just_ had surgery, you’ll tear your stitches or worse.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he bites out, venom coming out unchecked. That white-hot anger from before is back, pushing up through Oliver’s chest because none of the other emotions swirling inside him can. He’d just spent hours carrying her around under worse conditions, when he was actively _bleeding out_ , not because there was no one else but because she’d _needed_ him. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t take care of her now when she needs him even more. 

But it’s Diggle, and he understands Oliver better than anyone other than Felicity. So he doesn’t let up, but he also doesn’t react in kind. “Felicity _does_ ,” he says.

Before Oliver can respond to that, Dinah cuts in, obviously more pragmatic about the situation than either man. “We don’t have time to argue about this,” she says, stepping closer and gesturing at OIiver. “Can you even stand up from there without help right now, let alone with 120 pounds of extra weight?”

The selfish part of him, the part that always needs to be the one who rescues Felicity, wars with the part of him that finally understands that her needs have to come first. That more than anything decides it for Oliver; he _can't_ stand without help, and he won't risk dropping her or delaying her treatment any more than they already have just because he can't bring himself to let her go.

So he nods sharply at Diggle. “Take her. Careful,” Oliver says unnecessarily as they shift her so Diggle can get her up in a bridal carry, and Oliver keeps one hand on her back as long as he can, until Diggle is standing and striding away to the garage where the van waits.

Oliver watches them go, feeling the emptiness in his arms heavily. Letting Felicity go, that's been the hardest lesson for Oliver to learn, even after all these years and her attempts to teach him. He's ashamed that this is what it took for it to sink in, and he thinks it's a testament to his selfishness that it was Felicity’s pain that finally did it, and not her words.

But he also finally understands that Felicity has never wanted his shame, just his honesty and his trust and his actions to match. That's all she's ever wanted from him.

It shouldn't be a revelation, but it feels like one. 

He needs her safe and healing so that he can share it with her, tell her that he's ready to hear what she wants and to respect it, even if what she wants is him letting her go for good.

“Oliver,” Lyla calls, and when he looks up he sees that she’s already off the platform heading toward where Dig disappeared. He realizes he's been sitting staring at his hands since Dig lifted Felicity away, and a sense of urgency returns. He leverages himself up with one hand on the desk, and bites back a groan at the stiffness in his back and the burn at his side.

Dinah tilts her head at him judgmentally. “That was a good call. Looks like you’ve already busted some stitches.”

Olivers puts a hand to his side, and sure enough, there’s a damp patch where blood has seeped into his shirt. He shakes his head and starts walking with purpose, knowing Dinah will follow. “It’s not that bad. I’ll have one of the docs fix it after they take care of Felicity.”

“Will you?” Lyla asks him skeptically as they join her.

“I promised Felicity I’d take care of myself,” he replies, sparing Lyla a quick glance as the van comes into view. “I’m trying to keep my promises.”

“Good,” she replies in that no-nonsense way of hers, but makes no further reply, because they’re climbing into the van and Oliver refocuses on Felicity, who’s laid out on the other bench. Dig’s kneeling on the floor beside her, partly to keep her secure as they get moving, and partly to monitor her vitals.

The ride goes by in a blur for Oliver; he’s aware of Lyla calling her medical team and briefing them on Felicity’s condition, and of Curtis relaying requests and instructions from his seat in the front of the van. All Oliver remembers of the trip is counting the rises and falls of Felicity’s chest, wincing every time her head to lulls against the bench seat when they hit a bad patch of road.

Still, it’s a relief when René pulls into the alley behind the disguised ARGUS facility and Felicity hasn’t woken. He and Dinah are up and out of the vehicle quickly to find that the medical team is already waiting for them with a stretcher. Oliver recognizes a tall, lanky man as one of the doctors who treated him -- Dr. Quintana, he thinks as he greets the man with a nod -- but he doesn't recognize the two staff with him.

Curtis comes around to help Diggle bring Felicity out of the van and place her on the stretcher (while Oliver tries not to hover and fails), and the medical team takes a minute to strap her in and get a status report from Diggle.

When they start walking quickly into the building and down a corridor to the diagnostic suite, Oliver shudders at the utter familiarity of it all. The last time she was on a gurney with him following along like this, she’d been bleeding out and clinging to life, and intellectually he knows it’s not the same. Getting his racing heart to recognize that, however, is another thing entirely.

He must make some kind of noise as they roll into the diagnostic suite and the medical team gets to work, because Diggle puts a hand on Oliver’s shoulder and guides him off to the side with Dinah and René. 

Dig doesn’t let go, and Oliver’s about to tell Diggle that he’s okay when he catches a glimpse of Dig’s face. His eyes are strained, and he has a look of such studied neutrality that Oliver knows he must be rattled. It reminds Oliver that he's not the only one reliving bad memories and worst fears. So Oliver doesn’t say anything or pull away, just lets Diggle absorb the comfort he needs while he can.

Oliver's eyes catch Lyla’s across the room for a second, and she gives him a small, tense smile before she turns away to confer with Dr. Quintana. Then the nurses are transferring Felicity to a bed, and Dr. Quintana is moving toward their small group in the corner while the nurses pull out a gown for Felicity.

“We’re going to run some tests to identify whether the biochip implanted in Miss Smoak’s spine is the cause of her pain. It’ll take some time, so I suggest all of you wait in one of the offices, and we’ll send someone out to keep you updated,” Dr. Quintana says, gesturing toward the doorway.

“But--” Oliver starts, anxiety winding up in his chest, not knowing what to say for them to let him stay. The doctor is just trying to preserve Felicity’s privacy, and Oliver doesn’t want to be difficult. He just knows he can’t leave Felicity alone, not now. 

He looks to Lyla, silently pleading for her to intervene somehow, but to his surprise, it’s Curtis who speaks up. “Mr. Queen should stay. He knows Felicity’s medical history, plus he has medical power of attorney.”

Oliver doesn’t mention that Diggle does too, but only because he doesn’t know if that would help or hurt his cause for staying in the room. All three of them have legal authority to make medical decisions for each other; it’s something Felicity had been adamant about maintaining, even after their break up.

_I know it’s awkward, but you’re the only ones who would understand,_ she’d told him over the summer, when they were rebuilding the lair and things between them had thawed for a short time. _I know John has Lyla and you have Thea,_ _but I really only have the two of you._

Oliver remembers those moments, and then the months of distance between him and John and Felicity that followed, and he has to swallow a couple of times to force down the ache in his throat.

“Alright,” Dr. Quintana agrees, an uncomfortable amount of compassion in his voice. “Mr. Queen can come back with Mr. Holt when Miss Smoak is dressed, but I’m going to have to ask the rest of you to wait outside.”

They all shuffle out, Diggle squeezing Oliver’s arm in silent support one more time before he lets go and follows Lyla and the others to an office. That leaves him and Curtis out in the hallway, standing quietly next to each other while they wait.

“Thank you, Curtis,” Oliver starts, looking for the right words to fix what he may have broken. “For backing me up in there.”

Curtis waves a hand awkwardly. “Don’t mention it. It’s what Felicity would want,” he says, then glances over at Oliver and away again. “I’m sorry about before, in the bunker. About me freezing. It’s just--Felicity’s usually the _boss_ , you know? So it was hard to see her--”

“I know,” Oliver tells him, not wanting relive it. His nightmares will take care of that later. “You got it done, you helped us get her here. I’m the one who should apologize. I was...scared and being an ass. I’m sorry.”

Curtis turns to him, eyebrows up. “Wow, you really _have_ changed. I can’t wait to tell Felicity that I got a bonafide Oliver Queen apology.”

Oliver’s reluctant, huffing laugh is interrupted by one of the nurses, a sturdy-looking woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun. “She’s ready, if you’d like to come back in now.”

They trail her to Felicity’s side, and see that the medical team has changed her into a conservative grey gown and turned her over onto her stomach, leaving the gown open to her lower back as they hook her up to various machines. 

She seems to be stirring a bit, her eyes half open, so Oliver sits in a chair they’ve placed next to her head, and Curtis goes around to her other side where all the equipment is situated.

Oliver runs his fingers through her hair, needing the connection and hoping it’s as comforting to her now as it was when they were together. “I’m here, Felicity. Everything’s okay,” he whispers, repeating the caress until her eyes close again.

“Okay,” Curtis declares a minute later, his determined eyes meeting Oliver’s over Felicity’s still form. “Let’s do it right this time.”


	2. and i hope you know you don't go alone

Felicity stands in the middle of a railyard.

She’s holding JJ in her arms, and she needs to get on a train because she needs to go somewhere, but she doesn’t know where or which train to pick. JJ is restless and squirming, his chubby legs moving up and down against her side, and the confusion she feels over where John and Lyla and Oliver are and the anxiety over being solely responsible for a child as small as JJ is overwhelmed by a sense of urgency -- _she_ _has to pick a train_. There’s somewhere they have to be.

Suddenly a train is pulling out of the yard, and she’s sure that’s the one she needs, so she’s running after it, catching up to an open car and managing to get JJ into it. She’s trying to climb up after him, but the train is speeding up and she’s slowing down, a strange and painful burning sensation spreading down from her back into her legs. She stumbles, and the train is going to leave her behind, taking JJ with it, but then hands are reaching down and pulling her up and into the car.

She pulls JJ into her lap, trying to balance the little boy as the train car sways, and the man who helped her steps into the orange light. She can just make out his features -- he’s handsome, with his hair swept back and sharp cheekbones and dark eyes.

“Gotta be careful,” the man says through a wide smile. “It’s not the fall that kills you.”

She feels a flash of warning, of real fear, and then the scene changes. The train is gone, and she’s lying with JJ on the mossy floor of a forest. It’s misty and cold, and they’re huddled together for warmth. She’s got one arm over his little back to keep him close, her eyes fixed on the trees, which seem to stand ever more menacingly as the light fades.

Her eyes get heavier and heavier, but she knows she can’t sleep. She has to stay awake and watch the trees. Her legs feel cold and heavy, then numb, and darkness pulls her down even as she fights to send it away.

Oliver’s voice echoes soothingly, telling her everything’s okay, but she doesn’t know where he is, and if he isn’t here, how can it be okay?

Felicity opens her eyes and JJ is gone. The moon is high and the trees are shining brightly, unnaturally so, and panic overtakes her because _JJ is gone._ How could she have fallen asleep? John was counting on her to protect his son, her godson. _JJ was her responsibility._

“JJ!” she yells, scrambling up, but she’s hardly moving. Her feet won’t work. An eternity passes and she only moves a few feet, and she knows she’s running out of time. 

“JJ! JJ, where are you? I’m here! JJ!” she yells, over and over, but tears clog up her voice and it comes out like a whisper instead. She makes it over a hill, hands raw from dragging herself, and then rolls down into a valley of flowers. The flowers are waxy and sickly and she’s suddenly terrified because she knows, _she knows_. She knows what she’ll find.

She crawls into the flowers and there’s a body sprawled awkwardly among them, but he’s too big, and the face and empty eyes--it’s not JJ’s face. It’s William’s.

Felicity screams.

She wakes up gasping and hazy, and John is crouching down beside her bed. Are they in her bedroom? It's strange because the room is familiar, but it doesn't look like the loft.

John’s eyes seem tense and pained, but his smile is gentle and calming. He doesn’t look angry or upset with her -- surely that means JJ’s okay? John's saying something, but it’s kind of muddy and warped-sounding, and she can’t quite make it out. 

She feels so drowsy, and she realizes she must have been having a nightmare. Relief follows, because thank God none of _that_ was real, but she’s also afraid to go back to sleep, that she’ll go back to that place or dream of something worse. 

But someone’s petting her hair, fingers sweeping a steady pattern around her ear and over her scalp, and it’s so relaxing that she doesn’t even notice when the world goes dark again.

This time when she sleeps, she doesn’t dream at all. She’s not aware of anything, and then gradually she is. Her mind chugs at a sluggish pace, so it takes her a while to place herself. 

Details come back slowly: she remembers that she’d been enjoying the physical labor of building her new desk and computer system in the bunker, and that she’d been having a tentative but pleasant conversation with Lyla, all things considered. 

Then there’d been a sudden and intense burning pain, gathering in her lower back and shooting down her legs like lightning, and she’d fallen hard to the floor. It’d gotten bad quickly, worse with each pass from her spine to her toes, until her body had felt like something else, like an enemy, and she was trapped in a fight she couldn’t win.

Dull anxiety rises at the memories, but she pushes it down and away as she floats along, noises around her becoming clearer. A steady beeping noise, the click of a keyboard, familiar voices murmuring. They sound like safety.

But mostly she notices -- not the total absence of pain, really, but a feeling she wouldn’t have been able to name before she was shot: a sense of _relief_ , of being able to breathe and exist without oppressive, excruciating suffering. She still hurts; her back throbs, her arm feels like one big bruise, and her body in general just sort of aches like it does now after a tough workout, but it’s manageable. Nothing like the searing, unrelenting pain of before.

And that soothing hand is still in her hair, smoothing over her head and sending goosebumps down her neck. She can feel callouses on the fingers that brush over her cheek, and she knows right away that it’s Oliver. His touch is a memory her skin will never forget.

She realizes that he’s been next to her the whole time, however long she’s been asleep, stroking her hair, letting her know in his special way that she wasn’t -- _isn’t_ \-- alone.

Some kind of dense emotion wells up inside her, but she can’t quite make her heavy eyelids open yet to see him. The only thing she seems able to do is turn her head a little bit into the weight of his hand, make a noise in the back of her throat.

Even to her own ears, it sounds embarrassingly weak and whimper-like. 

Everything around her quiets instantly, and Oliver’s hand spasms in her hair, then settles against her face.

“Easy,” he says, thumb moving over her cheekbone like he’s trying to soothe her, and it feels practiced enough that she wonders if she’d been crying out in her sleep. His voice sounds so soft, and yet oddly rough. “You’re okay, you’re at ARGUS. We’re all here. Curtis and the doctors are taking care of you.”

They’re _all_ here? While that’s wonderful -- she’s spent far too much of the last year isolated from the team, her _family_ \-- it’s also...not. 

Because as much as she wishes they weren’t, the moments before she was sedated are now vivid in her mind, especially the humiliating helplessness she felt. She hadn’t been able to _do_ anything, to control her own body or her own responses. 

That she had to experience that powerlessness again, and in front of their new kickass team, no less -- it’s difficult. It makes her want to hide. Despite how she’s grown in the last year -- honestly, maybe even because of it -- she doesn’t want to be that vulnerable in front of anyone. Maybe she never has.

Maybe she’s never trusted that it wouldn’t be used against her, or used as a reason to find her wanting and unworthy. Vulnerable people are imperfect, and imperfect people?

They get left, or left behind. And she should know, she’s been burned before, recently enough that she still feels singed. But -- that’s not entirely fair. Felicity knows Oliver’s imperfections, all of them. He’s never hidden them from her.

And Oliver knows hers, and he’s still here. He didn’t run this time.

Not that he’s who she’s worried about. It’s the team, the family. They’re who she’s thinking about.

Right.

“Wow,” she croaks when her mouth will move. The broken sound isn’t surprising, given how sore her throat is. “That sucked.”

There’s a round of tired chuckles, but when she can finally open her eyes, Oliver is the first thing she sees. Or his arm, rather, as she’s lying on her side and he’s sitting so close at first that he blocks her view of the rest of the room. Then he sits back in his chair, pulling his other hand out of her hair to rest in his lap. 

She pushes aside her feelings of emptiness and longing to focus on him. And, well, he actually looks kind of terrible. Tired and weary, and maybe a little in pain if his stiff posture is any indication. His arms keep twitching like he’s holding himself back from reaching for her.

She wants to tell him to give in, that she liked the weight of his hand in her hair, grounding her, but the words fly out of her brain as soon as her eyes meet his.

He smiles softly at her, relief and something unnameable passing across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way she’s always loved. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies. And then, because he really does look awful: “Are you okay?”

Oliver laughs, real humor mixed with something broken. “I’m great. How about you?”

God, that warmth in his voice, in his eyes. It’s been so long since she’s felt it, she hadn’t realized how cold she’d been. Her nose starts to burn, and she’s embarrassed at the moisture blurring her already fuzzy vision. “Never better,” she says, covering. 

She turns a bit to look at everyone else. They’re hard to make out without her glasses, but she gets the general impression that they’re disheveled, worried, and a little glum. “We’ve got to stop throwing these parties. They’re the opposite of fun.”

Oliver shifts in his chair, catching her eye for a minute, and his expression speaks volumes, a sudden callback to their previous life.

_You don’t have to be funny for me. You know that, right?_

She’s saved from having to answer the unspoken reminder when Diggles steps up, having been hovering by her feet. “Agreed,” he says. “Permanent ban on all Team Arrow bedside vigils.”

“We don’t call ourselves that,” Oliver cuts in.

“I do,” Felicity says, through a small smile she’s surprised to find is real. “Occasionally.”

“Stop,” Oliver orders, but there’s absolutely no power behind it.

Diggle puts his hand on her knee, squeezing affectionately. “Whatever.”

It’s her favorite routine, and she’s about to laugh when she realizes: she can’t feel Diggle’s hand.

She can _see_ it, knows she _should_ feel the pressure or warmth of his fingers around her leg, but there’s nothing. She lifts her knee, or tries to - nothing happens. It won’t move, and neither will her feet or even her toes under the blanket.

Oliver sees her rising panic and his amusement slides instantly away, as quickly as his hand returns to stroking her hair. “You’re okay, everything’s fine. Curtis just turned off the chip.”

“Yes,” Curtis says as he comes around her bed and into her line of sight. “Everything’s in working order. I recalibrated the microelectrode array myself and the biochip passed a full signal diagnostic. I just wanted to wait to turn it back on until you were awake and lucid so that we could run a controlled test.”

Felicity nods, not daring to speak while her heart is still in her throat. In a kind of muscle memory, she turns her head into Oliver’s hand, seeking comfort, and a few beats of silence pass as she looks up at Oliver, calming under his smile. 

“But, you know, I think you still look a little groggy,” Curtis starts, looking between her and Oliver. “Yeah, we’ll give you a few minutes. Oliver, why don’t you stay in case Felicity needs anything? We’ll wait down the hall.”

He turns abruptly, gesturing widely for everyone to file out in front of him.

“Really, Curtis?” She hears Dinah whisper on their way out the door.

“What? That was subtle.”

“No, that was lame,” René scoffs.

“Just walk, children,” Lyla says, and then the door closes.

She shares an amused look with Diggle, who takes her hand. “I’ll be right outside, okay?”

He’s checking in with her, making sure she’s okay with Curtis’ meddling. Touched by his thoughtfulness, she squeezes his hand. “Always my knight in shining armor.”

But her comment has the opposite effect of what she intended -- Diggle’s eyes go shiny, and he gives her a tight smile. “Not always.”

“John,” she says, heart hurting.

“I could have done better, Felicity.” He looks at Oliver, and some silent agreement passes between them. “ _We_ could have done better.”

She holds his hand as tightly as she can. “You’re still here. That’s enough.”

Diggle looks like he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he leans down and kisses her cheek. “I’ll be right outside,” he says again, and this time it’s a promise.

“‘Kay,” she murmurs, and then it’s just her and Oliver.

He’d pulled back so that Diggle could get close, and now he’s just sitting looking at his hands. She wants to fill the void between them with words, but it feels like she’s waiting for something.

And she is. 

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Oliver tells her quietly.

His words send a bolt of unease through her. She’s been waiting so long for this conversation, but she’s still not ready. “Oliver, you don’t have to do this now.”

“Yes I do,” he says, and there’s a resolve in his voice that she’s never heard before. “I should have said it months ago.

“Before, in the bunker, when I told you I didn’t trust myself, that was true. But it wasn’t the whole truth. You were right, Felicity. I didn’t trust you. I couldn’t.”

It’s not anything she hadn’t known months ago, but hearing him say it, confirm it -- it hurts. “ _Why_?”

“I needed you so badly, but I,” he laughs humorlessly. “I didn’t think I deserved you. Even before I knew about William, I just thought--I thought I could make it work. Make _us_ work, if I just kept everything the way it was, if I controlled everything--” he stopped, made a frustrated noise. “I’m sorry. I’m not explaining this well.”

She holds out her hand, waists for him to take it. “You’re doing fine.”

He takes a deep breath, blows it out. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, but still doesn’t look up at her. “I lied to you about William because I thought if I told you, if I let you decide what you wanted to do, you might decide to leave.”

She’s been trying to listen and withhold judgement, but she can’t hold her frustration back at that. It’s just so _stupid_ and _infuriating_ and so _him._ “ _Oliver_. All I ever wanted was to be your partner. All you had to do was tell me. I wouldn’t have left. You know me. You know I would’ve helped.”

“I knew it, and I didn’t. I can’t explain it, Felicity.” He sounds so tired, so resigned. “I didn’t trust that you’d love me anyway. I didn’t _want_ to.”

The frustration bleeds out of her, all at once, leaving behind an aching kind of sadness. That, and the familiar part of her that has always whispered _of course of course of course_ whenever she’s felt like she’s found something real _. What did you expect?_

“Was it me?” she asks him. It’s a quiet question, one that strikes at the heart of all her worst fears and insecurities since she was a little girl. That something is just wrong with her, because no one can really love her, just her, and stay. “Did I make you feel like you couldn’t”--

“God, no. No. It wasn’t you.” Finally, he lifts his eyes. “I was just scared. I always have been.”

He’s gripping her hand, stroking her skin with the same aimless movement she sometimes sees him make when he’s upset and trying to hide it.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and about the things you’ve said.”

“Oliver,” she whispers. He shakes his head, so she bites back the rest of the words that are racing around her mind.

“I used to think if I could love you enough, hold you tightly enough, it wouldn’t matter that I didn’t deserve you. But it’s not about deserving you, and it’s not even about loving you. I’ve always loved you. But I don’t think love is enough. Is it?”

“No.” Oh, how her heart aches. Everything just aches. “No, it’s not enough.”

He nods, a gesture full of weary acceptance. “I get it now. I’m done taking your choices away, Felicity. I’ll always love you, no matter what. I’ll always be your friend. And if that’s all you want--” he inhales sharply, and when he speaks again, his voice trembles. “If you want me to let you go, I will. I’ll respect that. I trust you.”

She’s learned a lot about wounds this past year -- how to cause them, how to neglect them until they fester. But she’s also learned that sometimes wounds hurt most when they’re mending. 

She thinks that’s why she hurts so much now. “I don’t want you to let me go.”

He doesn’t reply, but his eyes are soft and bright. He reaches up with his other hand, settling his fingers in her hair once more, sliding through and back again.

She closes her eyes, letting herself relax into his touch, letting herself believe it. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” she says. As much as she’d like it to be, this isn’t an easy fix. “I need time.”

His fingers against her scalp, they’re strong and gentle. Steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

A few minutes later, Curtis returns, and she and him work on her implant together. Diggle hangs out for a while, but eventually he and Lyla go home to JJ, and the new team retreats to their own places.

But Oliver?

Oliver stays.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic and chapter headings are taken gratefully from EDEN's song of the same name.


End file.
